


The Heart shows no signs

by Stivell



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: (Nothing graphic though), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Medical Procedures, Military, Past Child Abuse, Pym being awesome, Rating will change, Religion, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28291845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stivell/pseuds/Stivell
Summary: Heartnoun/hɑrt/1. the organ in your body that pumps blood;2. the central or innermost part of something;3. a person’s most basic or essential feelings or instincts.
Relationships: Gawain | The Green Knight/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers  
> 1/ I do not have any experience in the medical field.  
> 2/ Same thing for the military.  
> 3/ I do not live in the US and it's highly possible that you find inaccuracies and/or grammar mistakes during your reading
> 
> Now that we have established that I absolutely do not have the knowledge or the skills to write this, let's get to it

  
The heart, the surgeon says, does not reveal  
the small rifts, the hairline cracks which

split the hairline cracks they conceal cops  
and robbers in a stretch of skin flaunting

star-scars with show of blood bone  
the ledges of what it holds tight in checkmate

moves: bend this and break  
fight first and bleed to earn

needle finger wrap caress balm  
the salvation of sight Behold what beauty

lasts, what outlasts itself The curtain  
calls the ovation Seize the beginning

that ends this way: off center stage above  
fractured ribs the heart succumbs in silence

All is dark. Listen a _kommos_ sung solo  
It is too late to repair anything.  
\- Ru Freeman, _The heart shows no signs_

As far as Lancelot can remember, he has always been ill. It is then a huge surprise to wake up that morning, rays of sunlight hitting his face through the hospital window, and feeling nothing but quietness in the body that had felt like his personal battlefield for so long. Savoring the peaceful moments, he amazes himself by dreaming of possible passions that have been unattainable for so long. He wants to ride a horse. He wants to see the ground shrink as a plane goes up. He wants to be able to _feel_ emotions, truly, without fearing for his fragile constitution to break under the weight of his sentiments.

It felt so different from the first time. He still remembered vividly the confusing wake up he suffered just after the operation - the overwhelming noises around him, the blurry forms agitating themselves upon him, and most of all, the awareness of a foreign body blocking the air within his throat. Lancelot has always felt distrust against his own physical envelope, judging it too weak and frail. But that was something else. He felt unresponsive, as if all the cells composing his body had stopped functioning at once, and he couldn’t move, breathe, think through the massive distress taking place in his brain. He had never felt so glad to fall asleep.

When consciousness hit him again, he still felt the breathing tube; but this time his head was clearer, and he could see the nurse’s face speaking to him. Blinking, he tried to concentrate on the words he heard.

“I’m going to ask simple yes or no questions that you can answer by nodding or shaking your head. Do you understand?”

After a pause, he nodded carefully to the nurse who took a chair next to him.

“Alright, you’re doing great. First question: is there any of your senses that doesn’t feel right? Can you smell, hear, see and touch correctly?”

The smile she gave him took away the last bit of anguish Lancelot still felt in his gut. He focused on his senses, watching his right hand as he attempted to fold his digits on themselves and feel their touch on his palm. Moving his stare back at the woman, he shook his head slowly.

“Thank you. Now, do you feel any pain? If so, please try to show me where with your hand.”

Keeping his eyes connected with hers, he lifted his hand and placed it cautiously on his chest, wincing as his fingers touched the tubes on his torso.

“Ok, that is perfectly normal. You seem to be doing excellent. If you’re ready, I’m going to remove the breathing tube so you can try to breathe by yourself and we can talk a bit more. How does that sound?”

Lancelot would have screamed yes in another situation, but he still felt uneasy about moving too much around the itching object in his throat. He settled for a simple nod. Smiling again, the nurse stood up and approached her hands towards him. It is difficult to remember clearly how the removal in itself happened: but he could still perceive the feeling of air hitting his raw throat hours after.

Soon after the removal, as he got used to breathing again, another medical personnel entered the room. He felt hands touching his upper body, helping him sitting up in the bed. The next hour was spent coughing and doing breathing exercises.

“Visits are not going to be possible yet, but your friend will be able to come tomorrow. We will remove the chest tubes as soon as they’re clear. Don’t hesitate to ring if anything happens, but you’re doing perfectly well, and the surgery was a real success. You need to rest now.”

Lancelot was grateful for the smile that always accompanied the nurse’s statements, and he tried to reciprocate. He wasn’t sure it gave much result, but it was better than nothing.

“Thank you”

He was surprised to hear how hoarse his voice sounded. After they left the room, he realized he was indeed exhausted. Listening to the soft falling of the rain outside and the steady sounds of the machines, he fell asleep.

* * *

Pym was there in the morning after his first wake up, as she arrived now, a few weeks after the surgery. His voice was back, the tubes were nowhere to be seen, and he was eager to leave the hospital.

“So, big day, huh?”

She had entered the room as usual, almost slamming the door and making noise, disregarding the well-known idea that a morning in a hospital was supposed to be _quiet_. But Lancelot couldn’t stop himself from smiling as his extravagant friend came to slump in the chair next to him.

“I guess so. It’s about time.”

“Mmh mmh. Everything is ready at home. Your damn cat has been giving me a hard time, y’know? Always sniffing around and scratching the couch. You need to take care of your child now, be a responsible father.”

Lancelot laughed at the remark.

“Yes, what a terrible parent. Missing the first months of his newborn because of a life-threatening surgery.”

“God, always exaggerating, this one. You recovered in so little time, it’s almost as if you didn’t even need the surgery.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. But Pym couldn’t fool him through the usual teasing, and Lancelot saw the worry and pride in his friend’s eyes. He was about to go on when the door opened, much more softly this time, and the nurse came into the room.

“Hi, Lancelot! Last day in this cold, white room, yeah? I can’t believe it’s the last time I bring you these meds. How long as it been now, a month?”

She looked at the cup in her hands, filled with numerous pills, before placing them on the tablet next to him.

“Almost a month, yes. Thank you for everything, Celia. I won’t go as far as to say I’ll miss the place, but you were definitely the best thing that happened here.”

“Don’t mention it. I wish the patients were all as sweet as you. Please come visit from time to time! And don’t forget to take your meds.”

She pointed a finger at him with this last statement, in a vain effort to appear threatening. But Lancelot only laughed, and she came to hug him tight.

“I won’t, don’t worry. I will have my own personal nightmare at home to remind me.”

He looked at Pym over Celia’s shoulder, who seemed unfazed by his words and only rolled her eyes again.

“I know, I know. I place all my trust in Pym. Now, your belongings are here in this bag, and you can come to be discharged as soon as you’re ready. Take care, you two. I’ll miss you!”

Celia left the room after they said goodbye, and Lancelot proceeded to obediently take the meds and dress himself. He couldn’t wait to leave the place.

* * *

Coming back home after three months felt weird. The flat hadn’t changed, but after all the events of the last weeks, it seemed a bit surreal. He sat up on the couch (which had indeed suffered a bit since he left) and sighed deeply.

“Here you are! Look at this big cat!”

Lancelot turned his head to the door frame where Pym was standing, arms full of a black cat trying to get away. He wouldn’t say he was _big_ , but he definitely grew up a lot since Lancelot had found him. At the time, the kitten must have been only a few weeks old when he found him behind a dumpster, almost freezing to death. Pym, didn’t say a thing when she saw her roommate drenched to the bone, a tiny cat in his arms. They warmed him up, gave him a bit of milk and a blanket. The evening was spent looking at the animal sleeping between them on the couch. _“How are we calling him?”_ Lancelot had paused for a second, staring at the black cat. _“Goliath.”_ Pym had acquiesced silently, not asking any questions.

But for now, the black cat was nothing like the small kitten he had left. Goliath jumped from Pym’s arms and came to snuggle on Lancelot’s lap, looking at him with his big and almost frightening eyes.

“This cat is a nightmare.”

“Don’t say that. You love him too.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. So, take-out for your first night as a free man?”

“You know I wasn’t in prison, don’t you? But yes, go ahead.”

* * *

Lancelot ate a last bit of pizza and left the rest of it in the box. It was probably too much, and too early after days of only eating hospital food. There was also a twisted feeling in his gut that took away his appetite.

“I need to find a job.”

Pym unlocked her eyes from the show she was attentively watching and stared at Lancelot.

“Well… alright. But you know, there’s no hurry. You’re still recovering.”

He let out an annoyed sigh and looked away. He knew he needed to talk to feel better, but it never became easy after all these years.

“No, I know, but Pym… Someone gave their life for me. And I’m just… I’m not doing anything. I have to find a meaning in all of this, or I’ll go crazy.”

Pym turned off the television and sat right in front of her roommate, placing her hand on his cheek.

“Hey, Lance. Please look at me. No one gave their life for you. They were already gone. And you deserved to live, do you hear me? And you still do. Now, whatever you wish to do, I’ll support you in any ways I can. But you need to do this for yourself, for your life, and not because you feel grateful for someone who is not here anymore.”

Lancelot let her words sink in, understanding the truth in them. It was still hard to shook away the feelings of guilt he bore since the surgery.

“So, do you know what you want to do?”

“I want to make them close the institution once and for all.”


	2. Reminiscence #1

Lancelot couldn’t remember his arrival at the orphanage, even if he’d wanted to. And for good reasons: he was three months old when it happened. No one ever knew – or had wanted to tell him – who let him on the steps of the Children of the Lord Orphan Home. The building, in the remote suburbs of Chicago, could foster dozens of children from zero to eighteen-year-old.

The older kids in the Home loved to tell him that story, once he grew up. From what he understood, his arrival caused more chaos than usual. The nuns who came to collect the child quickly noticed that something was wrong: he was not crying, but his skin tone screamed unhealthy. The baby seemed blue, apart from the strange scars that ran on his cheeks. The nuns started to hurry around, bringing blankets and hot water to warm the child; Father Carden even woke up in case it was needed to give the child his last sacraments. After a few hours of care, the adults – and all the children who had left their bed when they heard the commotion – watched in awe as the child just slept, unaware of the trouble he’d caused.

“Father, I do not understand. The child is not cold, does not appear to be harmed, yet this color remains.”

The nuns were whispering to the father, not wanting the children to hear about the issue. The priest did not respond, did not even look at them. His stare was focused on the sleeping child as he approached him, pulling the blankets away. 

“Sisters, you may have let the devil inside tonight.”

They all gasped and took a step back.

* * *

Growing up, Lancelot did not feel particularly devil-ish. But he would never dare to contradict any of the adults in charge. As they repeated it regularly, he would have died in the street without them – Father Carden used to add _and maybe that is what should have happened_ -. His skin had kept a pale color, but fortunately less blue than before. He was fairly sure he could have had a perfectly normal childhood, if the entirety of the children there were not scared of him. Which did not make much sense in Lancelot’s young mind: he would have never hurt anyone.

Not being able to do anything like other kids did not help either. His body was too weak to perform any kind of activity. _“The wicked spirit living inside you is damaging your body”_ , had said Father Carden when he was five-year-old and asked why he couldn’t play football. Lancelot had been very confused then, not knowing what a spirit was, or why it would be “wicked”. But asking led the priest to slap him in the face, so he guessed it wasn’t anything good.

The nuns, on the contrary, were quite nice, with a few exceptions. They taught them how to read, count and write. But even if he was allowed in class, he quickly understood he would not be treated in the same manner. When he was seven, the sister that taught mathematics was so afraid of him that he did not have the permission to look at her in the eyes. The human interactions he got were quick. When he would need someone, a sister would come and help as rapidly as possible before leaving.

On his ninth birthday – which was actually the date where they found him-, Lancelot started to feel even weaker than usual. He would have nauseas just from standing up a bit quickly or climbing the many stairs that led to the chapel. When he complained to the sisters, they brushed him off and told him to get some rest. The rest did not work. In the evening, he couldn’t even move from his bed. Father Carden was called, and he sat next to the bed.

“Father, I don’t feel very good.”

“My child, it is time for you to fight the evil inside of you. We will pray with you. Gospel of Jesus Christ According to Saint Mark: _And he cried out, ‘What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are—the Holy One of God.’. But Jesus rebuked him, saying, ‘Be silent, and come out of him!’ **.** And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying out with a loud voice, came out of him_.”

And so the sisters all came to his bedside, asking for God to come and save the boy’s soul. Lancelot hesitated to tell them he didn’t think his soul had anything to do with it; it was his heart that ached. In the middle of the night, when his mind became confused by the fever, he only heard faintly a nun asking the priest.

“Father, do you think it’s time to call for a doctor? The boy seems to be gravely ill.”

He did not see the priest’s reactions through his fuzzy vision, but he guessed from his tone that he must have glared at the young woman.

“Sister, you are new here, so I won’t hold this against you. But just know that this child’s condition has nothing to do with our regular bodily issues. The devil has put his claws on his soul and only him can find his way to redemption.”

It was silent for a moment, until the payers started again. He fell in and out of consciousness until the sun rose up. At this point, Lancelot could only faintly hear what was going on. He suddenly felt hand on him, moving a kind of instrument on his chest.

“Hi there, Lancelot, is that it? I’m here to help. I’m a doctor. Will you let me see what’s wrong?”

The doctor didn’t wait for his answer to auscultate, and Lancelot was grateful: he couldn’t talk anyway. The rest of the doctor’s visit was unclear, he could only hear fragments of conversation around him. _“something strange… abnormal placement of organs… heart… clinic…”._ He suddenly his body being lifted and moved around, before passing out again.

* * *

The next day at the clinic was equally fuzzy. Lancelot could feel himself being dragged to one test to another, machines making noises he had never heard in the children home. At midday, he started to hear more clearly and saw the same doctor speaking to Father Carden.

“This is a case of situs inversus. His organs are not in the right position. In most cases it’s benign, but it seems that Lancelot also has a heart condition. The medication I have prescribed should work well, but you may need to reconsider your decision about surgery one day.”

With a quick nod, the doctor excused himself and left the room.

“Abbess. I think you and I agree that no one should hear about that.”

“Yes, Father.”


	3. Chapter 3

Gawain sighed deeply when he took his first step on the ground. Coming home after his deployments often felt the same way: deep joy and great unease. It was a bit different this time, as he was only gone for three months and a half. There hadn’t been enough time for the world to drastically change while he was away. Putting his bag on his shoulder, he proceeded to go and fetch for his car. The day wasn’t finished yet.

He drove mechanically, trying to keep his eyes open. He knew the road like the back of hand, which made it difficult to focus. Arriving in front of on old building, he stopped his car and parked it swiftly. He didn’t even need to wait for more than five seconds after ringing at the door before a boy with big eyes opened it instantly.

“Gawain!”

The boy collided into his arms and Gawain held him tightly.

“Hey, Squirrel. Missed you so much. Why aren’t you at school?”

“It’s Sunday, you stupid fool.”

“Huh… Fair enough.” Gawain looked at him, clearly sleep depraved. “Wait, what did you call me?”

The boy laughed and flew quickly before Gawain could think about any kind of retaliation and ran through the place yelling. 

“Arthur! Gawain is here!”

He climbed the stairs sharply, almost making Arthur fall as he went down the steps calmly.

“How are you doing, Gawain? You look like shit.”

“It’s always a pleasure to see you. Did Squirrel behave?”

“He was great, don’t worry. He’s having good grades and asked when you would come back every day.”

“Thank you again for what you’ve done. I really appreciate you keeping an eye on him.”

“Well, wouldn’t I be a crappy godfather if I couldn’t even help from time to time?”

At these words, Squirrel came down the stairs, dragging an excessively big suitcase behind him. Gawain came to help him, but the boy refused immediately. He put his luggage in front of the door and turned towards Arthur.

“Well, Arthur, it has been fun, but it’s time for me to go home now!”

Arthur scoffed and ruffled his hair. “Go put your stuff in the car and wait there, Squirrel.”

The two men watched the child hurry outside with a fond look.

“So, can you tell me where you’ve been now?”

“Coasts of Syria, on an aircraft carrier. Nothing nice to say about that, trust me. Thanks again for keeping Squirrel. I won’t be out of the country for a while now.”

“No worries. Don’t hesitate if you need help. Take care, you two.”

* * *

“Are you going to leave again soon?”

Gawain looked at the 8-year-old in the rear-view mirror and smiled. “Not for a few months. Why? You didn’t like staying at Arthur’s?”

He saw Squirrel shrug and turn his head towards the window. He felt his fingers tighten against the wheel.

“Arthur’s nice. But it’s not home.”

There was a moment of silence and Gawain kept his eyes on the child, both sinking in their thoughts.

“I know. I’m sorry, kiddo. I promise I won’t leave for a long time now.”

“Don’t be sorry, I know you have to go to fight the bad guys. Someday I will go too.”

“Really? When I left you wanted to be a doctor, though.”

“Can’t I be both? I’m sure I can fly planes _and_ heal people.”

“Sure you can, if you work well at school.” Gawain scoffed when the child rolled his eyes.

He continued to stare at the boy as silence settled in the car. The feeling of guilt that had sat in his stomach for the last three months did not pass as he hoped it would. Leaving Squirrel the first time he was deployed had been awful, the child thrashing against him with his tiny fists and crying how angry he was – but Gawain still had to go. Having a family, children, any kind of ties, had never been in his life plans. This time, Squirrel was a year older and had already lived with Arthur for a few months. But Gawain could not let that false mature and brave face fool him. After all he had been through, this child needed a home, a real one. And that meant sacrifices had to be done. 

It’s not that Gawain was a quitter by nature. He had worked his ass off to get that far; he had a prestigious job, a good pay and basically everything one could dream for. But sometimes, and he was ashamed of it, the turn his life took made him want to throw everything on the floor. Except he couldn’t, for the sake of the tiny human on the backseat. And that what probably the biggest joke the universe could make, having him raise a child. He was, in this opinion, the least capable adult for this task.

“Do you remember that I have my theater play next week?”

Gawain shook his thoughts out of his head and looked once again at the child.

“Of course. It’s been written in my mind for six months now, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I only have the second role, but the teacher said that if I do well maybe next time I’ll take the lead.”

“That’s great, Squirrel. I can’t wait to see that.” He stopped the car and parked quickly. “We’re home, take your stuff.”

They both hopped off the car and Gawain opened the door in a hurry. He felt like it has been an eternity since he was home. The house, of course, hadn’t moved a bit. He turned on the power and the place seemed to revive. But what gave it its soul was of course, the 8-year-old who ran through the place like he owned it and never left it.

“Come on, kid, it’s movie night. Go choose a movie, I’ll fix us dinner.”

Bringing food in the living room, Gawain watched as Squirrel chose a DVD in the pile.

“Back to the Future, huh? Mister, I must have made something good of your education so far.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, G. I’m just a very special child.”

“That you are.”

Sitting on a couch a Sunday night, a child snuggled on his side: the idea would have made Gawain laugh a few years ago. Tonight, strangely, it felt familiar. It felt like home.

* * *

Later that night, after dinner and a warm shower, Gawain relaxed a bit. Squirrel had been asleep for a moment now – homecoming or not, school will still be here tomorrow. He had stopped drinking altogether when Squirrel came to live with him, but now he had to admit he was craving for a beer.

He was about to go to bed too when he heard unusual noises in Squirrel’s room. Opening the door cautiously, he immediately noticed the small tremors that shook the child’s body. Approaching, he realized Squirrel had his eyes tightly closed and was crying softly.

“Squirrel, wake up.” Gawain sat on the bed and shook the child gently. He moved a little, whimpered and cried even more.

“Squirrel, please. You need to wake up.” He was beginning to move the boy more strongly, but nothing seemed to work.

“Percival, wake up!”

With a gasp, Squirrel opened big, wide eyes and started to breathe in earnest. Gawain gathered him in his arms as soon as he got up a bit.

“You’re okay, kid. It was just a nightmare, I promise. We’re home, nothing’s happening.”

The boy clutched his fingers around the fabric of his shirt and forced hitched breaths out of his mouth.

“I was in the car again, Gawain.” The older man tightened his grip around the boy. “This time, I couldn’t get out… I just couldn’t…”

“You got out, Squirrel. I promise you did. You’re alive and you’re doing great. I will always be there. Breathe with me.”

Gawain felt the boy hugging him like his life depended on it and waited for the crisis to pass. Minutes ran, until Gawain could hear the soft, regular, characteristic breathing of a sleeping human. He put the boy back in his bed, tucking him in the covers and leaving the room smoothly.

Gawain couldn’t say how many times Squirrel had been woken up by nightmares since he move out here. The sight of the boy crying and thrashing in his bed broke his heart each time; it was impossible to get used to it. Gawain wasn’t used to feel that many emotions at the same time either: fear, sadness, helplessness, anger, grief. It was overwhelming.

Entering his own bedroom, he went to check his emails quickly before finally sleeping. He went over everything work-related: that could wait until tomorrow. He tiredly clicked on every title until one specific mail caught his attention.

From: [messages@donorscontact.net](mailto:messages@donorscontact.net)

To: [gawain.knight@navy.mil](mailto:gawain.knight@navy.mil)

Subject: Response to your post on DonorsContact

November 20, 2020

Dear user,

Someone answered the post you made on October 2019:

_“Hello,_

_I hope this message will find you well. I deeply apologize for the time I took to respond your post. My name is Lancelot, I’m 23 years old. I was transplanted a year and a half ago and it saved my life. No words could ever express how grateful I am to wake up_ _every morning. I’m so very sorry for your loss, and I will pray for you for every day that I will get to live._

_Lancelot”_

You can exchange with this user in your inbox services on donorscontact.net.

Best regards,

The DonorsContact Team

Gawain hadn’t even realized his breathing had become irregular before his brain asked for more oxygen. Was the room spinning or what is only his head?

_“Lancelot, I am glad to hear from you. Don’t hesitate to give me a call._

_Gawain”_

He added his phone number, sent the message quickly and closed his laptop.


	4. Reminiscence #2

Gawain’s childhood had been powerful, reckless, audacious. It ended too quickly, he thought, to form a steady, healthy adult out of it. But he cherished his first memories: spending quiet Sundays in bed, waiting for the rain to stop, holding his sister in his arms. Nimue had always been a silent child; his parents told him they were exact opposites. When he was her age, he used to be crying and yelling immediately after being left alone. But Nimue was calm, and she used to watch him intensely, never affected by her brother’s excessive amount of energy.

Gawain’s mother was a museum curator. He was sadly born without any artistic talent; but he loved watching her going hunting for antiques and old furniture in obscure boutiques. She would patch them up with care and expose her favorite objects in their home. Of course, their own childish masterpieces – drawings, salt dough sculptures and handmade jewels – were equally disposed in the house’s rooms. It was peculiar; Gawain understood it when they hosted his first birthday party at seven years old. His friends watched the decoration with strange looks, trying to comprehend the atmosphere. The night after, he had yelled at his mother, telling her how ashamed he had been of his family.

Gawain had expected his mother to scold him, to yell at him about how ungrateful he was – but no. She sat next to him and told him she loved him. Taken aback, he looked at her before muttering to himself. _“What would make you more at home here?”,_ she asked. He cried. _“Nothing, I love it.”._ His mother smiled and took him in her arms. _“I will do anything to make you happy, but I’m less interested in what people think of us.”._

He used to hang out with his sister and their neighbor, Arthur. They both had a very special relationship; and Gawain understood at a very young age that Arthur loved Nimue more than anything. Whether she didn’t notice, or was too polite to reject him, he never knew. In anyways, teasing him about it became Gawain’s favorite passion of all times throughout the years.

Gawain’s father, in contrast, wasn’t a good memory. Being a police officer, he was luckily almost never home; and when he was, the children rarely saw him without a bottle. Sometimes, when Gawain looked at his father’s hazy eyes, he wondered if he realized he had children. He was never violent in his gestures, but his words only – or their absence, most of the times – were enough to make Gawain’s mother hide to cry. He understood as a child that violence could take numerous forms; neglect, lack of love, indifference, were definitely some of them.

When he was 10, on a beautiful summer day, he and Nimue were supposed to be taken care of by their father while their mom worked at the museum. Arthur came to hang out at midday, and they were so bored.

“What do we do?”

“I still don’t know, Arthur, you asked the same question yesterday.”

“You’re not nice, Gawain.”

He looked at his sister and rolled his eyes as Arthur smiled at her.

“We could go see Mommy at the museum!”

“We can’t, Nim.”

“Why?”

“It’s too far away.”

“Maybe your dad could take us to the city?”

Gawain saw his sister’s glance lower and her smile falter. He sighed.

“No, he’s sleeping.”

“So what? Let’s just wake him up!”

“No, we can’t.”

“Come on, Gawain! You’re just no fun!”

“Will you just shut up? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He regretted shouting when Nimue took his hand gently. He hadn’t even realized he was gritting his teeth and clenching his fist.

“Please don’t fight, Gawain.” She said quietly. “It’s ok, we won’t go.”

Gawain felt so powerless when he watched his sister’s unhappy face.

“Nah, you know what, we’ll go.”

“What?”

“Nim, Arthur, let’s go on an adventure.”

* * *

As soon as he suggested the idea, Gawain had known it was probably the stupidest thing he ever did. But now that the three of them were sitting in the backseat of a police car, he realized how much trouble he was in. The children couldn’t even look at themselves and just stared at their feet with contrite looks.

The first thing he saw when the car stopped in front of his home was his mother’s tears falling on her cheeks. When her stare joined his, she cried even more, and his heart clenched. He didn’t even have the strength to open the door; the police officer ordered them to come outside. He felt his legs wobble as he stepped out, and his mother ran to hug him tight.

“What were you thinking, Gawain, oh my God, I was so worried…”

Nimue was crying too now, and she pulled at their clothes, silently asking to be a part of the hug.

“I’m so sorry mommy, we only wanted to see you, and then we got lost…”

Arthur’s parents came to get him, and they all went to go home. Gawain couldn’t even bear the guilt he felt when he saw the tears on his family’s faces. His mother’s trembling hands placed two cups of hot chocolate in front of them and sat, trying to calm herself.

“I’m very sorry, mom. I know it was a stupid idea. It wasn’t Nimue’s fault, it was me.”

Gawain’s mother let out a shaky breath and took his hand.

“I don’t care whose fault it is, Gawain. I only care that you are safe. I was… I was worried sick. The idea of you two spending the night outside, I just… Thank God you’re both safe.”

“I love you, mommy.”

Nimue smiled at her mother.

* * *

Gawain was twelve when childhood ended. He took his sister’s hand as they walked down the aisle behind the coffin.

“She is not coming back, Gawain?”

He looked down at Nimue and saw her big, expressive eyes.

“No, she is not. I’m sorry Nim.”

He felt a single tear running down his face as his sister looked at the wooden box with devastation. She is only nine years old, he thought. Way too young to experience God’s twisted way to decide the fates of human beings.

“We will get through this. I’ll always be there with you.”

Gawain squeezed her little hand in his own. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Pym!”

The redhead came running into the living room, only to find her roommate sitting in front of his computer.

“We talked about this, Lancelot. No yelling in this house except for life-or-death situations!”

“It _is_ a life-or-death situation!”

Pym sighed. “Let me get a coffee first, then.”

She came back, glaring at him but still sitting nearby.

“What then?”

“Look at this.”

Lancelot pushed his laptop in front of her.

_“Lancelot, I am glad to hear from you. Don’t hesitate to give me a call._

_Gawain”_

“Yes Lancelot. It’s usually what happens when you send messages. People answer.”

“He sent me his _phone number_!”

“Yes, he did. Are you going to call?”

“I spent a year before sending a text message. I’m definitely not calling anyone.”

The stubborn expression on Lancelot’s face made Pym smile. Her friend had grown so much since they met at the Orphan Home; but social interactions still took so much effort and energy from him.

“Well, it’s ok if you don’t. Most people don’t reach out for their donors. Don’t feel obligated to do anything, it’s your decision.”

Lancelot sighed deeply and began to nervously fiddle with his pencil, avoiding eye contact. 

“I want to know about them. But I fear it’s going to lead to disappointment.”

“You won’t disappoint anyone. First because you’re an awesome, brilliant, smart, beautiful man. Second, because they probably don’t know what to expect. Third, because you could have been, I don’t know, a criminal? A vicious politician? Someone who doesn’t signal before turning in traffic circles?”

Pym was pleased to see that earned a chuckle out of Lancelot.

“So, do what you feel like doing. And take your medication.”

* * *

Gawain was overwhelmed. The week had gone by in a flash and he felt like he wasn’t perfectly settled yet. Having a child taking all his non-working time did not help either. Speaking of which, he was currently using way too much kitchenware in a vain hope to create something edible. Squirrel had performed his first theatre play earlier in the afternoon, and Gawain had wanted to treat him with a real, homemade dish. Hearing his phone buzzing, he cradled it between his shoulder and ear.

“This is Gawain.”

_“Uhm. Hello?”_

“Hello? What can I do for you?”

_“Er, yes, well, in fact, I wanted to call because, uhm…”_

“Yes? I’m sorry to press you, but I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

_“Oh. I’m so sorry. Huh, forget it. I’ll… Goodbye.”_

Gawain looked at his phone screen as the call disconnected. This could possibly by ranked in the top five of the weirdest phone calls he ever received.

“Who was it?”

“No idea. Can you pass me the salt, Squirrel?”

* * *

Lancelot felt _miserable_. He was curled up on his bed contemplating whether if he really needed to get out of it, one day. This is how Pym found him when she gently pushed the door of his bedroom.

“How was your date?” He mumbled to her.

“Shitty. Are you crying?”

Lancelot shot his head up and glared at her.

“I am _not_.”

“Ah, sorry, you could have fooled me with this cheerful face.”

“I called.” Lancelot sighed.

“Oh! Was it nice?”

“No. I couldn’t say anything and then I hung up.”

“Well. That’s a good start.”

Silence settled and Pym actively searched about something to say.

“Do you want me to tell you everything about my awful date over dinner?”

Lancelot looked at her over his shoulder.

“Yes, please.”

* * *

Lancelot had two hours of free period between his classes and didn’t know what to do. Grabbing a coffee at the nearest vending machine, he got out and watched students smoking on campus. Sitting on a bench, he turned his phone in his hand. He felt oddly courageous today – perks of receiving good grades, he guessed – and thought it was probably the perfect time to accomplish what he didn’t dare to do on a daily basis. Taking a deep breath, he dialed the number again.

_“Hello?”_

“Hello.”

_“I’m not an expert at phone calls, but I think this is the moment where you introduce yourself.”_

Lancelot could hear the amusement on the other’s man voice.

“Yes. Sorry. I’m Lancelot, I’m not sure if you remem-”

_“Ah, Lancelot! Yes. I’ve been waiting for your call. How are you doing?”_

“I am… well. Thank you.”

_“Good. Nice.”_

There was an awkward silence and Lancelot felt his hands trembling.

“You have a nice voice”, he blurted.

_“…Thank you?”_

“My therapist told me to give compliments if I am feeling nervous during a conversation.”

_“That’s very good advice. Can I give one, then?”_

“Why, are you feeling nervous?”

_“No, but your voice is nice as hell too.”_

“Oh. Um, well, thank you, I guess?”

_“I can presume from this reaction that your therapist hasn’t talked to you about accepting compliments yet?”_

“What? Er, no, she didn’t, actually…”

_“It’s ok Lancelot, I’m just teasing you. So, your therapist’s advice to fight stress is to flirt with people? I would love to meet her, don’t hesitate to send me her details.”_

“…flirt? No! That’s not what this is!”

_“Again, Lancelot, just teasing.”_

“This is a nightmare.”

_“I’m actually enjoying it a lot.”_

He heard the other man laugh through the phone and was surprised to hear the chuckle that came out of his mouth.

_“So, Lancelot. Tell me about you.”_

“Yes. Right. Well, I’m a law student.”

Lancelot heard a shaken breath.

_“That is… Quite incredible. Nimue deeply wished to study law, among other things. She would be so pleased.”_

“I’m sorry, who is Nimue? Is she…”

_“Yes, that’s her. She was my sister.”_

“I am so sorry. I wanted to thank you. I really am deeply sorry. I promise I will work my whole life to be worthy of her, and of you, I will really work for this to have a meaning, I’m so, so sorry-”

_“Wow, Lancelot, calm down. You don’t need to be worthy of anyone. I don’t care if you don’t do anything with your life.”_

There was a pause.

_“Ok, no, that sounded wrong. I very much care that you live a happy life. But whether you do grand things or not with it, I will not regret that decision. Never.”_

“I… thank you.”

_“Can I ask a question?”_

“Of course, whatever you need.”

_“Which organ where you transplanted with? You see, Nim helped several people.”_

“My heart. I had a malformation. She saved my life.”

_“The heart. I’m glad. Thank you for answering.”_

“There’s no need to thank me. I’m the one who will be eternally grateful. If you need anything, I’ll try to help.”

_“Thank you. Now, Lancelot, tell me about your life.”_


End file.
